


Wrap Me Up in Your Legs

by Scarlet_Ribbons



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Dean lovin' Sam in panties, Felching, Feminization, Fluff, M/M, Obsession, Rimming, Sam In Panties, VERY UNDERAGE, Wincest - Freeform, gagging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-01
Updated: 2016-03-01
Packaged: 2018-05-24 02:30:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6138280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scarlet_Ribbons/pseuds/Scarlet_Ribbons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam has sugar on his lips and honey between his legs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wrap Me Up in Your Legs

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Bed, by J. Holiday.

 

 

Sam has sugar on his lips and honey between his legs. 

 

\--

 

Sam finds this little tea set in one of the cabins they shack up in, a cabin a friend of a friend of a friend recommended to John. The family had recently abandoned the cozy little house, and judging by the slash marks above the door, deep-trenched into the wood, it wasn't hard to see that they were spooked away. But the Winchesters have seen worse, known worse, and by the time Sam and Dean set up in their latest temp, John vanishes to the backwoods. The fireplace is empty and his boys are cold.

 

Dean cleans the guns while Sammy explores, and his heart-happy little brother, then ten, cries out in delight when he finds a delicate tea set built in china and painted in gold and pink, pinker than Sammy's mouth, pinker than his tongue. Blossoms spray across the spout. Dean's insults clench into a knot in his throat and stay there until he swallows again, his jeering quelled by Sam's dimples and the way his spidery fingers fondle the blossoms.

 

"Aren't they  _pretty,_ Dean?" 

 

Dean ends up with a teacup hooked on his finger and Sam and his little boy shorts and loose t-shirt in his lap, his younger brother daintily stroking his tongue along the remains of a trace of chocolate on the china plate and the freckles lining Dean's jaw. Dean sips at the sugarless tea without a complaint, then sets the teacup down and sweetens the taste in his mouth with Sammy's little heart-shaped one. Their little romp starts with pursed pink lips and ends with Dean chewing on sweet nipples, Sam arched and bare and quivering like a tense bow with his floppy shirt rolled up to his armpits and his ribs like a harp's strings. Dean's hard as hard gets, cock sliding between soft cheeks, teeth trapping a velvet-soft nipple between his teeth, and Sam is hugging Dean's head like he's going to use him to climb out of the Hell they are destined for. 

 

They hear dad clomping up along the steps outside, and Sam is still a delicate slip, slinking from Dean's lap and crawling into the comfort of his own chair across the table. He's sipping tea all dainty when John lumbers in.

 

Dean thinks that's it for today. Sam likes to prove him wrong.

 

John's asleep when Sam crawls into bed next to Dean, freshly showered with wet curls plastered to his angel-cheeks and forehead. When they dry, they'll roll up into those girly, pretty curls, and Sam's always sort of been able to pull that off. That girly thing. He moans like one, screams like one. Wet and open like a whore, Dean's only, before you can even call him a twink. He chews cherries at truck-stops and makes them dream.

 

"You'll never believe what I found," Sam whispers into Dean's ear, flower breath warm against his skin. His skin's still steaming from the hot-water shower, the smell of baby shampoo curling against Dean's mouth and nose, beckoning him. Innocent, even though Sam's anything but. His boy is so excited he's wriggling against Dean, little fingers working his pajama pants. Sam's got cute pajamas with bees and honey jars and it's fitting. He's warm and viscous and as sweet as honey. 

 

"Oh yeah, Sammy?" Dean whispers back. "What'd my baby boy find, hmm? Hidden treasure?" Sam gyrates his way along Dean's hips, knees resting in the hollows of the bed on either side of his thighs, and Dean lifts his hands to cup two handfuls of his precious girl. Sammy wiggles his hips some more, and Dean eases away the pajama pants further down, only to end up with two handfuls of silk. 

 

He's confused for a moment, cocks his head to give Sam a momentary frown. But as he feels his way along the hem, feels the little hoops of lace lining the openings where Sam's slim, bird-like legs poke through. His bones could be hollow, Dean would never know; maybe his boy could take flight when he's not looking. Framed by clouds in the Heavens, that's his Sammy. Dean rises against Sam's abdomen, gathering the excited boy closer so he can look over his shoulder and see the silk hugging Sam's ass. 

 

"Where did you find these?" 

 

Sam wiggles his butt once more, just for show (Dean's boy likes to show off how pretty he is, and Dean can't think of anyone who deserves to more), and the silk shimmers, glossy and bride-chastity-white as it grazes over Sam's neatly concealed baby cock. Dean rubs it between his fingers, lets it fall away, makes a thready, aching sound that rises from his chest. "Unopened, in the closet," the petal-lipped boy whispers, then bursts into a peal of nervous giggles, mesmerizing like little bells. "Do you like them? Are they pretty?" 

 

"Turn for me," Dean whispers, his throat dry, and Sam kicks his pants away and turns so his ass is facing Dean, slim fingers eagerly yanking his own shirt up so Dean can see the layers of lace. Dean doesn't let a precious centimeter escape his notice, not when Sammy's leafed through a package of panties to pick the one he likes the most, just for Dean. He makes Sam's breath hitch as he feels his way along his little brother's hips, the cuts of bone that haven't quite developed. He's teeth-achingly soft. "Jesus, Sammy. You're wearing panties." 

 

Sam nods almost anxiously, turning so Dean can see his hiked pajama shirt and the expanse of skin that he's now hurting to touch. Dean sits up, his lips cocking upwards into a steady, slow smile, and he can almost wrap both hands around Sam's torso and have the fingertips touch. 

 

"Hold your shirt." He whispers, and Sam tucks the fabric between his teeth and holds, like a good boy. Like a good girl. Dean lowers his panty-clothed boy into the mattress gently, so Sam doesn't make even a whisper of sound when he comes into contact with the cotton-flower bed. "Don't let go." He warns, thumbing Sam's lower lip, and the boy bites tighter. "You gonna be my little slut, Sam? Wanna be just a little slit for me to fuck into, all wet and tight? Or maybe." He tips his head forward, mouthing over Sam's silk-covered cock, as dainty and small as Sam himself, before suckling just the head into his mouth. "Don't let go." he repeats, when Sam's mouth trembles. "You wanna be my pretty girl, Sam? 'S that why you're wearing this?" Rubbing the head between his his thumb and index finger, he purrs, "Wearin' panties like this?"

 

Sam nods, trembling with excitement, and his hands splay loosely at his sides as if he isn't sure what to do with them. The nails are bitten down to half-moons that shine from the lacquer of Sam's slick tongue. Maybe his boy was worried that Dean wouldn't like the panties, maybe he fretted and paced and bit his nails in the warm, steam-clouded bathroom after his shower. Sam smells like bath salts now, so close to Dean's nose. He can pick out a hint of pine, a touch of amber, but mostly, Sam smells warm, like little boys fresh out of the shower. Little boys aching to be unraveled by their older brothers. 

 

"Mm." Dean hums, almost contemplatively, gazes down at his spread brother with his shirt hiked high and pants yanked low and all on display for him, and thinks he has yet to see a more beautiful sight. He cups Sam's knees, pushing them back until his limber boy has folded like a paper crane. He tastes a prayer for forgiveness, but right now, he can only worship Sammy. Closing his mouth over the silk-hidden hole, he licks, so close yet so far, the panties dampening until they cling to his lips when he pulls away. Sammy whimpers around the cloth in his mouth, hips wriggling, and Dean slides one palm along the boy's waist to soothe him. Then he's gone again, buried into the sweet haziness of the panties, of Sammy's scent, of the moisture against his lips. He licks until it's his own punishment, until Sam is writhing and begging wordlessly for Dean's tongue to actually slick into him. And who is Dean to deny his brother?

 

Dean frees his brother of the sultry, silky panties, folding them into a square before tucking them into Sam's mouth to hold and freeing his teeth-wet shirt. Sam's tongue works the panties open, and he chews on them like they're bubblegum, sucking away his own taste until Dean's so hard he can't think half-straight. Sam is soft, here, hairless, still young enough that he doesn't have even a hair to call his own other than the abundant locks spilling over his head. Dean dives down into Sammy, his miracle, tongue working puckered muscle open until he's licking, greedy, into Sam. He holds Sam open as if his boy is a haphazard butterfly, his wings masquerading as velvet-soft thighs, and opens him with his tongue until Sam's mouth is wide open, until he's crying out against the wad of panties and saliva and silk, and only they are what stops John from bursting in.

 

Sam silences himself with his hand, eyelashes dewy with little droplets, and lifts himself just slightly to beg Dean nonverbally, but Dean just sucks hard at the open muscle, hooks two fingers in so he can hold Sam apart and take him the same way. He maps Sammy's tight, sugar-sweet ass until he could go anywhere and remember the taste just by touching the tip of his tongue to that spot

 

"Filthy," he whispers, and Sam jerks as if he's been struck. "Dirty. Just want your brother's cock, don't you? Just want me to split you in two, take you apart like a deck a' cards and put you back together. Right, Sammy?" He plants one more sloppy kiss against the rim of Sam's ass and hitches his brother's lower half until he's forced Sammy to manipulate himself to the height of Dean's cock. Dean lines the head of his cock with his brother's wetted hole, but doesn't thrust, not yet. He tugs on Sam's until the boy is practically flailing with need beneath him, cock twitching between Dean's fingers, and with a firm hold, Dean pushes forward.

 

He lets Sam envelop him in the tight warmth he craves almost every waking moment of his day, fist closed around Sammy's little cock as he pushes his hips. Sam stills beneath him, now, relaxed by the push-pull motion, his tip-tilted eyes focused hazily on Dean's with pleasure. Dean fills Sammy up, gives him what he needs, lets his little brother rock against him and beg for each drawn-out, sticky thrust. He soars off the feeling of Sam's legs clinging to his torso, ankles crossed all neatly at the small of Dean's back as if it's taking all his boy's effort to hold onto him It's slow, almost lethargic, nowhere near as rough as Sam usually takes it or can take it, for that matter. Sometimes, Dean just likes to fuck Sam loose and sort of sloppy, take his time and ruin his boy. This is one of those days. 

  
"'Een," Sammy moans, syllables lost to the cloth between his teeth, and Dean can see his boy's throat work as he swallows. Dean wants to make him ask for more, but he can't help himself from bottoming out anyway, and Sammy is past teasing, sobbing, tears streaming down his face. Dean's embedded in him and it's a bit much for the little boy, who never admits when it's too much, never stops asking for more. Ten and the filthiest mouth Dean's seen in any of his dates.

 

Brave little boy.

 

"C'mon, Sammy," Dean croons, his words like a song commingling with Sammy's pants and moans and his own grunts. "Wanted to be my little slut, didn't you? Gotta take big brother's cock even deeper..." He isn't all too big himself, all things considered, but he can work himself deeper into Sam. "C'mon, baby boy, relax." He presses on as Sam blooms like a flower beneath him, a brilliant red rose flecked with droplets of dew, spreading and arching and bowing his back as he invites Dean into all of him.

 

This rose has no thorns.

 

He folds Dean into his skin and stitches him in. He fucks Sam like that, spreads him like a quilt over the bed. Comes against just the used, strawberry-red entrance of the boy's hole, the few drops of his come leaking over the rim and kissing Sam's skin before rolling downwards. Then, he leans down. 

 

Sam, flushed and sweating from the exertion, pants, loose-limbed and sleepy, but even still, he spread his legs and holds them open even further so Dean can lap the boy's hole clean. He cups baby-soft thighs as he probes his tongue around for that bitter, earthy-warm flavor of himself commingling with Sam's honey slick. Sam sighs like he does on lazy mornings and gazes hazily at him. The panties are a crumpled pile of wet silk beside his cheek, and a few beads of come roll from his own soft cock. Dean licks that away, too. It's sweeter than sin on his tongue. 

 

"Sammy." Dean whispers, and his brother stirs like an interrupted cat, sprawling and stretching, fingertips twitching lazily. Dean swallows, throat suddenly dry, when he hears Sam's bones pop and rearrange and strain against his paper-thin, cotton-soft skin. He can't help but lean down to kiss both of his nipples as Sam finds that niche between consciousness and sleep. Dean rolls Sam's pants back over naked skin, tugs his shirt down, nuzzles his brother's belly before planting a kiss on his navel. His only keepsake, Sammy. 

 

The panties stay. Debauched silk, tucked out of sight from John's eyes. 

 

He decides he can have one more keepsake. 

 


End file.
